


Dark Prize

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dark, Eldritch, F/F, Rape/Non-con Elements, Ritual Sex, Swords & Sorcery, Vines, Violence, Weird fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-11-01 07:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20811233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The Mater Obscura united enemies under a single banner, and tore her father's kingdom apart from both without and within.  Doing her best to strike back at this foe only landed her in the Mater's power, and thing go from bad to worse.





	Dark Prize

Imogene crouched in the foliage, taking long, deep breaths. These were dark woods, the kind they would never have sought refuge in had they the chance. The distant sound of hooves was drawing ever nearer. Her eyes travelled from the lonely road through this section of the forest, to the faces of her comrades.

She tightened her grip on her sword.

It had been months since the invasion. The various clans along the southern border had stopped fighting one another and struck as one. The royal armies had held the hoard back, even as the bestial serpent-men of the swamps joined. Against an impossible alliance of generations-long enemies, the royal armies held. The King, hoping to end the destructive conflict, had attempted to negotiate with the leader of the enemy coalition, only to be rebuffed.

The Mater Obscura would not speak with him as if he were her equal.

Still, the war was at a stalemate until Lord Sharpe defected, his forces charging their liege’s troops during what should have been a minor skirmish. The King was dead and the royal armies had both lost many; both the traitorous legions and their victims. The fall was swift after that.

The pounding of hoofprints drew closer, and she could see the caravan. She was stiff from the long wait in the cold, but she shook it off, feeling her heart pound. She looked around, no eyes on her, all on the road.

They’d been doing this ever since the capital fell. A small band of Loyalists to the Blackwing dynasty had been striking, lashing out at isolated troops of invaders or striking at supply trains. Fighting a pitched battle with their numbers was futile, but this coalition of invaders couldn’t last forever, the hatreds that had been buried to strike at the King were too great to be even temporarily quenched. Making things more difficult for the invaders would hopefully increase the chance the alliance would collapse.

They were charging the road from both sides. An arrow unseated the driver of the lead wagon, and Imogene ran for the convoy. Food, gold, whatever. Some would be used to finance or feed the band, the rest distributed to the peasantry—the King’s generosity outlived him.

The shouts and clanging metal should have told Imogene that this was a trap. Scaly, hulking forms of the serpent men leapt from the wagons into the advancing loyalists, followed shortly by clansmen. Metal on metal, weapons clashed and men fell. 

And there she was.

Imogene had never seen the Mater Obscura. Never been given a detailed description. But the woman, wearing a heavy cloak of furs, sending her foes careening out of her path, could be no one else. Imogene’s blood ran cold as the something under the shadows of that hood took note of her and briskly approached, clearing her path with a swipe of a wicked-looking glaive.

The battle was not going well.

Imogene dug in her heels, focus tight on the usurper. They had fallen in a trap, but if the Mater fell here, then the collapse of the alliance was all but assured. Sword raised, she charged.

The Mater had reach with her weapon. Imogene slowed as she approached, weighing how to get in close as she avoided a few tentative swipes. There was nothing but darkness beneath the Mater’s hood, nothing to gauge a reaction. That kept Imogene’s focus on her weapon. She warded off a few strikes before ducking a wild swing, closing the distance, and stabbing.

It sank home to the crossguard, center of the Mater’s chest, a wheezing escaping her foe. The glaive clattered to the ground. Around them, the battle continued, unabated. Celebrating the opportunity to avenge her family would wait. Imogene went to pull her sword free to rejoin the combat, when suddenly the Mater stiffened, stood up, looming large. A grip feeling of cold steel trapped her left wrist, before a similarly cold hand wrapped around her throat. 

Imogene’s feet left the ground as she tried and failed to thrash her way out. Her head began to pound and her chest burned as twisting the blade still in her foe elicited no response. Striking with her free hand accomplished nothing. Grabbing on to the Mater’s wrist, trying to pry it off her throat, failed.

The sounds of battle grew quiet, and things began to grow as dark as whatever was lurking under that cloak. 

* * *

Imogene awoke painfully on a slab of stone under a bright sun. Her head throbbed and her entire body ached. She attempted to raise herself, but something caught her wrists. Her legs were similarly bound. The failure to move shocked her to full consciousness. She was in a clearing, one they had passed on the way to where they lay in wait, in the shadow of the lonely, dead tree that stood in its center. Black roots coiled around her limbs, holding her on what she had thought migh’ve been some old, forgotten altar.

As she thrashed, she saw a serpent man at the edge of the clearing, head titled inquisitively. It turned and disappeared into the forest, leaving Imogene to attempt to escape for a little while longer before it returned, hunched down and eyes averted as he led _her _to the clearing. The Mater Obscura ventured forth, after nodding and sending the serpent scampering back into the woods in was the woman. Face hidden in the shadow of her cloak, the lady knelt down next to Imogene.

“Ah, the last member of the Blackwing line.” Imogene glared as the woman reached out, fingers brushing a few strands of red hair out of her face. “I had almost given up hope that I’d find you. I am so glad to have finally made your acquaintance, Princess Imogene.”

She bit her tongue. There was nothing to do or say here. She had made her attempt, and it had been futile. Her family would go unavenged, and this _thing_ would rule these lands. 

“You know, I spent much time trying to find you—couldn’t have the last child of my conquered foes out there, running around.” Something your ancestors really should have learned.” The Mater Obscura said. An ice-cold hand ran across her face, trembling in odd ways as it did. “I learned how popular you were with the commoners here. How you trained harder than your brothers, followed your uncle on minor military campaigns until his death. Learned to fight as if that would let you escape being married off for convenience.”

She was trying to get under Imogene’s skin. The princess tried to appear nonchalant, bored, like she wasn’t paying attention as the Mater leaned in close, planting a hand on either side of Imogene’s head and lowering her until their noses were almost touching. 

“Hm… perhaps you were planning something on your own, a way to move up the line of succession, maybe? Getting rid of those two useless whelps, and maybe that old fool as well…” Imogene slammed her head against something solid in the shadow of the warlord’s hood, as hard as she could. If it did anything more than interrupt the her rant, she couldn’t tell. Vines slithered up her back and across her shoulders and neck, restraining her head. Her enemy drew a hand back and struck.

Imogene did a good job not showing how much the slap stung. Taking a deep breath, she said, calmly “Do not talk about my family.”

Here enemy leaned back, and maybe there was a trick of the light, but she could make out a pair of glittering eyes in that darkness. Entwining the red hair at the top of Imogene’s scalp with her fingers, the Mater grinned a feral grin, too-white brightness against the darkness. “Maybe you had that thought, maybe not. It does not matter any more. As I was saying… unlike your ancestors, I’ve no interest in leaving my enemies running free…”

“Then go ahead and kill me.” Imogene said flatly. She didn’t want to die, especially failing to avenge her family, but would prefer it here and now. She could imagine it in her head, being dragged through her father’s capital in a triumphal parade before her execution. Her stomach twisted when the Mater Obscura’s smile only widened. 

“Now, now, now. That would be a waste.” She chided, as if she were a tutor gently trying to herd Imogene to the correct answer. She ran a hand against Imogene’s cheek. “Like I said, I’ve been hoping to find you, last of your line. There are secrets in your blood, secrets that you have _no idea_ about. Your father, had to die. Your brothers? Fell in battle, or in accidents when we stormed the capital. You’re the last trace I have. I intend to keep it.”

“What do you mean?” She tried to continue the neutral tone as the Mater Obscura continued to talk. Between the fingers against her skin and the way she emphasized _keep_, Imogene’s heart began to race.

“This land is mine, now. Everything and everyone in it is under my dominion. Its treasures are mine.” The Mater said, punctuating this point by gripping the simple tunic Imogene had been wearing and tearing it off her frame. Roots shifted to allow her to manipulate her victim, tugging off clothes, stroking sensitive skin, spreading her legs far apart. 

Imogene kept her eyes locked on her, trying to control her rapid breathing. This was actually happening. The Mater Obscura wanted her frightened or pleading or weeping, most likely. She felt heat run up her face and suppressed it as best she could. She couldn’t get out of this, that much was apparent. There was nothing left to do but endure.

She was dimly aware of shrieks and cries from the forest.

She looked to the woods and saw _things _deep in the woods, neither man nor snake. She regretted it immediately, and looked back up at the Mater Obscura, who grinned broadly and moved. Fingers trailed down Imogene’s belly, nails against skin enough to _barely_ scratch.

Hot breath and soft lips between her legs drew a cringe from Imogene.

“My dear Princess, you seem nervous.” The Mater Obscura said, pulling a small flask from her belt. “I assure you, when we’re done, you’ll _beg _me not to stop.”

She wasn’t going to beg this madwoman for anything, least of all her hands all over her.

The Mater removed the stop from the flask and poured its contents on Imogene, from her collarbone down to her pubis. It was freezing cold and Imogene couldn’t suppress a shudder. The scent of wildflowers mixed with something faint and unsettling hit her.

Those fingers against her belly _burned. _Teeth chattered as Imogene was massaged and fondled and had encouragements whispered in her ear. She was not going to die at the Mater Obscura’s hands, oh no. She had so many more uses. The coldness against her skin was changing, the feel of heat and warmth and need sinking in.

Imogene let out an inarticulate whine when two fingers pressed inside her. They were skilled, trailing the warmth from the potion or whatever inside her. Against her binds, Imogene bucked a little against the Mater’s hand. She squeezed her eyes shut as the Mater approvingly, and loudly noted her reaction. A third finger slid in, thrusting and stroking and curling.

Until they stopped.

Imogene’s eyes snapped open as the Mater’s fingers left her body. Long, bony fingers disappeared into the shadow of her hood. The hand came down and then, the Mater looked down at her conquest with a broad grin. She pushed herself to her feet, shrugging her cloak off, and giving Imogene her first clear look at the face—the pallor, broken by patches of black scales was less shocking than the resemblance. The face was thin, angular, and familiar; save a pallor broken by patches of black scales that seemed to shift and move.

The face was Imogene’s, same as looking through a mirror. Save for the paleness, those receding black scales, and those eyes.

The Mater Obscura stripped herself of the light armor she had been wearing, showing skin branded and tattooed, intricate patterns along her upper arms, running along her back and chest and lower. Trying to follow the patterns of scarification and ink hurt her eyes; they seemed to emulate twitching legs of insects; or an opening eye, or any number of things that changed when Imogene focused for too long against a single pattern.

But she couldn’t look away.

She felt the roots unwind from her wrists and ankles, allowing her to shakily stand. The Mater loomed over her as she did, running a hand through her hair. She raised a hand to bat the hand away, but shuddered as fingers brushed her skin, letting her arm fall to her side. She moaned into Mater Obscura’s mouth as she kissed her.

The Mater pulled back a suddenly, shifting her grip to Imogene’s shoulder, gently push it down. The world seemed to spin around her as Imogene’s knees trembled. “My dear Princess, now kneel before your Lady.”

Kneeling.

She never asked anyone to kneel before her. Her father had always said a true ruler preferred looking his subjects in the eye, rather than demanding they look to the floor. 

Something hardened in Imogene, the fog on her mind cut for an instant, the look of surprise on the Mater’s face filling her with a different kind of amazing feeling. But the punch she threw was poor, she tried to throw all her weight behind it but her legs were practically buckling, she was so unsteady. That was why she ended up stumbling badly, missing her foe completely.

The Mater leaned out of the way and held Imgoene as she stumbled weakly, initial surprise yielding to amused chuckling. Something was skittering up Imogene’s legs. The roots again. This time, both her and the Mater were bound. But the roots did more then tie this time. She was forced to take a knee as the vines held them. They crept across Imogene’s thighs them and probed and penetrated. She set her jaw tight and tried hard to not react as she was violated by the limbs, while The Mater immodestly and obscenely voiced her enjoyment. 

The Mater dropped, clutching Imogene against her. She weakly tried to thrash free, tried to think of a way of escape, as hundreds of tiny movements sent dizzying thrills through her. Pleasure, rage, and humiliation mixed together in her veins, the world spinning about her and the Mater. Fingers curled in her hair, ran along her shoulders and down her back, as something quivered inside of her. The disorientation of whatever concoction the Mater had used on her was back in full force. The slight breeze made her shudder as it caressed her.

And everything else the Mater was doing felt a hundred fold more intense as she was stroked and fondled and felt and tasted and more, building and building until she fell apart. The whine that escaped her lips would have filled her with shame, but there was no room for that as she continued to be stroked and fondled and the Mater kissed her brow and said obscene things that Imogene only half heard but was filled with loathing about that was washed away by the next wave of sick pleasure.

They fell to the dirt as they were wrapped and bound and violated. Legs entwined, a mass of vegetation looping and writhing and pushing in each of them, Mater’s hands on her throat and lips against hers, head swimming from the potion, Imogen let out a groan, stifled by her foe’s tongue. The madwoman desperately _rocked _and pressed against her, trembling even as she held Imogene down for the vines, wringing more and more whines and cries out of the princess.

Maybe she was growing accustomed to it, or maybe she was losing it. But there was a moment of clarity, or unclarity, or something in between when Imogene was coming down from yet another orgasm.

Imogene saw her face in the Mater, twisting and enlongating as moans deepened and echoed in her skull. Hands against Imogene’s body, two, three, more, twitched and grew and split and flowed. The pale ashen skin and black tattoos swirled and merged and bend and Imogene watched that, it watched her. It was impossible to tell where the black roots of the dead tree tangled with the Mater’s body, or whether it was those roots or something in that _thing _that twisted and writhed in her depths.

She screamed, and that face which wasn’t hers anymore, wasn't really a face anymore, leaned down to kiss her.

* * *

It lasted until nightfall, and by that time, Imogene had lapsed into unconsciousness. The Mater Obscura, panting, slithered off of Imogene, letting out a laugh when her own ecstasies had faded enough for her to solidify into something that could laugh. _This _had been better than she expected it to be. She really had no idea how her prize would react, and this show of trying to resist was fun. A nice challenge to overcome. After catching her breath, the Mater straddled the princess again, brushing sweat-slicked hair out of her face. 

She was slack, every muscle relaxed from hours of the Mater’s attentions. She did not wake when the Mater slid her tongue in, past those teeth, inhumanly deep, down, down, down. Probing and caressing and twisting. She leaned back up letting out a satisfied sigh.

Generations had passed, and she had suffered long and worked hard, but success tasted so sweet. It was a shame the brothers were not still alive either—they would have been fun as well. Might be more obedient, less of a challenge. Still, the princess was more than enough to preserve what was worthwhile about the Blackwing family. And that blood was secondary to the important goal. She had her kingdom back.

There would be consolidation to consider. Some of her allies were unreliable, or had only joined to seize particular patches of land. Some could be trusted, others could not. The men all had petty squabbles to be dealt with, and the serpent men were fierce warriors growing increasingly skittish of their mistress's motives. All needed to be sorted out. The traitor lord was going to be executed soon—he betrayed the old King for the promise of his daughter, something that the Mater Obscura would not relinquish. What remained of the noble houses after her invasion would also need to be dealt with. Children of the children of the children of usurpers or no, they had been maintaining the place in her stead. Might be worthwhile to see if any would bend the knee.

There was much work to be done. She had to rebuild what she had destroyed in her conquest… no she needed to _surpass _that which had existed prior to her assault—the people could not look back on the Blackwing dynasty and imagine they had been better off. And there were bargains to fulfill.

Princess Imogene would be obstinate, would still refuse to play along, attempt to _ignore _her. That was fine. She traced along the Princess’s skin, imagining the markings she would make on that immaculate flesh to show who she belonged to. Imagining presenting the Princess to her new royal court, whichever allies and subjects she deemed most worthy. It wouldn’t be right now—any defiance had to be stamped out of the woman. Only when she was properly trained could the Mater bring out all of that potential. The uses the Mater had for Imogene's body were simple, base, and endlessly amusing.

The uses she had for the Princess's blood? That was what _really_ merited keeping her. Imogene would live a long life in the Mater's service, to be sure.

Still, the value of Imogene's flesh was quite satisfying at this juncutre. The Mater Obscura’s fingers found herself as she imagined peeling a gown off of the Princess, revealing those markings, and taking her, right there, in front of the court. A perfect symbol of the old regime, subordinate to the older regime made new again. She worked herself to yet another orgasm, imagining it, dissolving into unfathomable joy atop her conquered foe, struggling to retain that lovely face on her own.

Raising herself back to her knees, breathlessly, she looked at the edge of the clearing. Dark things were in this forest, black things that none of her warriors had wanted to be exposed to at night. That was fine. She had wanted tonight to be private anyways. Her, the usurper princess, and the dark things of the forest.

They had waited far too long for their Lady to return.

As they approached, she examined her hand, five digits slick with her own wetness, focusing on keeping them in the proper shape. She ran the pads of her fore and middle fingers against Princess Imogene’s lips, sliding them into her mouth. She stood, one of them draped her cloak over her shoulders. “Shall we head back?”

She looked at the tall, liquid shadow with its multitudes of eyes. It spoke a human tongue, and she smiled. It came from a mouth that wasn’t meant for it, but it was practiced, clear. That was actually somewhat surprising. She began to speak to it in its own piping language, but decided to words instead.

“Make camp. We’ll spend the night here.” She said, looking at her prize, reliving those short hours in her mind. Yes, there was a lot for her to do come the morning. How to bring her land to heel was complex and required clear thought and deliberation. How to bring Imogene to heel might be equally complex, but the creativity it required made something that wasn't quite a heart speed up and a smile cross her borrowed face. There was much to be done, tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after.

It was good to be queen.


End file.
